Bitter Blue
by Sasha1
Summary: Tom’s pale hand rose to her exposed neck. She gasped waiting for the contact she dreaded. But his fingertips never brushed her skin. They hovered over the alabaster surface. She felt their shadows tracing the arch of her throat. GW/DM.
1. Mirror, Mirror

Chapter One – Mirror, Mirror...

She reached blindly for the switch and flicked the light on. While stumbling into the large bathroom, her gaze was fixed on the faucet. It took all her self control to keep from looking in the mirror.

With trembling hands, Ginny turned on the water and waited for it to get as cold as she needed it to be. After a few minutes of intently staring at the running liquid she tentatively reached out her hand and soaked her fingertips in it. Seeming content with the results of her exploration, she proceeded to let the water pressure ease the stillness of her wrists. It slowly drowned the tension her body had been experiencing. She finished by washing her face.

Amber eyes rose slowly to meet the image reflected by the mirror. The feeling of impending doom followed the movement. She wasn't going to like what she saw. And yet, her troubled mind pushed the truth into her consciousness, she wasn't going to hate it either. Maybe that was even more torturous.

"You can't rinse away sin, Ginevra. It doesn't cover your skin. It is your skin."

His voice was calm and taunting. His reflection wore an unnerving smirk.

Tom's pale hand rose to her exposed neck. She gasped waiting for the contact she dreaded. But his fingertips never brushed her skin. They hovered over the alabaster surface. She felt their shadows tracing the arch of her throat.

Her eyelids fluttered shut for a few seconds and she felt him there. Ginny could see them in the neon lighted bathroom, her flesh burning and her body shivering - his gaze powerful and possessive. She opened her eyes and stared into the reflection of his dark blue ones. "Dark blue, almost black", her own voice echoed in her mind. All her senses were going mad. He was so intensely there that it intoxicated her. His reflection, the way the shadows of his fingers felt on her skin, his specific scent.

The boy curled his fingers. His knuckles were closing in on her cheek, waiting to caress the soft surface. Her eyes suddenly shut again, as it seemed that this time he was going to follow through on his gesture. His hypnotic eyes were concentrating on her, almost burning her with their obsessive attention. And again she was left waiting for a touch that never came.

She abruptly turned around to find nothing but the still air.

"Come on, Weasley!", Draco sighed in exasperation as he pushed the intercom button with spite.

He took the pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans and contemplated pulling one out and letting the frustration drain out of him as the grey smoke filled his lungs. His long fingers drew the edges of the rectangle with rough strokes. Suddenly, deciding he wasn't going to over-analyze it, he pulled one out and swiftly ignited the tip with his silver lighter.

Where the hell was Ginny? They had agreed to meet up in front of her place at 8. And that had been 25 minutes ago. Ginny wasn't exactly big on punctuality but she knew Draco didn't tolerate being kept waiting and had managed to limit her definition of fashionably late.

It was a mystery to the blond wizard how she managed to always be there at precisely the time indicated when work was involved and yet if there was a social situation, meeting co-workers or just hanging out together, she could be exasperatingly tardy. He sometimes threatened never to pick her up again or to avoid her company in non-professional situations all together but they both knew those were pathetic attempts at regaining his dignity after a twenty minute wait. Being an Auror meant that you didn't have the time to make friends outside the work place and ever since they had been partnered they had had few attempts at establishing friendships that they knew would be impossible to sustain. Their social life consisted mostly of drinks with her brother and his best mate, the incredible Harry Potter.

Ron and Harry had been partnered as soon as they had set foot in the Department. Which was the same year Draco had finished his training and started working as an Auror. It had taken many hostile exchanges and snarky remarks but they had become civil after half of year. Twelve months after their initial reunion the three had become friends in an unusual, sometimes insulting sort of way. None of them were really surprised by this though. Draco had changed in the war. He had grown up. He became silent, observant. He decided that his previous plans for his own life were not what he considered acceptable anymore. Living off his fortune and managing the business was not what he wanted. He handed of the presidency of Malfoy Holdings to someone who loved running it, and who wouldn't skimp too much off the top. He became an Auror and started hunting down people who, like his deceased father, were a menace to wizardkind.

His first year in the Auror's department had been a very inconsistent one. There were few people who could deal with him. He had a very unapologetic manner about him and a cruelty and attitude that drove many potential partners away. He was still a bastard and an asshole, as Ron liked to remind him. All that had changed when Ginevra Weasley had started to work there. It had taken a 5'5" witch to control the uncontrollable. Ginny's had more than enough experience when it came to dealing with impossible males. She had six brothers after all. They had been partners for three years now and even though they had their fights, they were a powerful team.

He threw away what was left of his cigarette and started pushing the intercom button again. Just as the nth profanity of the night was about to exit his lips the door to the building opened and a very peculiar looking Ginny headed towards him.

"Hey. I'm sorry I'm late. I know you hate it. I was just catching up on some sleep and lost track of time."

He observed her carefully. Her voice and posture were normal but her face was pale and her hands were trembling slightly. And there was something else. Something he couldn't exactly put his finger on. If he were a Muggle he would dismiss it as his mind playing tricks on him. But that never happened. He was an Auror. His staying alive depended on his mind functioning correctly. And right now something was off.

She noticed his gaze on her shaking hands and pulled the black jumper over them.

"Too much bloody caffeine", she explained with a small smile.

"Right. Well we better get going. Your brother and Potter said they'd be waiting at the Leaky Cauldron."

She nodded slightly and they started making their way across Muggle London.

"And then the bloody moron started singing the fucking Anthem at the top of his lungs."

A roar of laughter met Ron's words.

Ginny made out the shape of the two men through the thick fog of cigarette smoke. She prepared herself for an evening of faking good humor and whole-hearted laughter.

She wouldn't think. She shouldn't. Insanity fed on thoughts. It had only been a dream - no! A nightmare. It was just another phantom of her time in the Chamber, just another aberration of her over-worked mind. His dark eyes and burning gaze hadn't been real. There was no way they could have been. He was as dead as her idealized perceptions of the world. She couldn't dwell on those unreal sensations. Even as she willed herself to resist, she realized the futility of her stubbornness. The thoughts never left. There was no avoiding them. Everything else was pretense and., as soon as her audience was gone, she would be left alone with her own mind – terrifying company.

"Gin!", Ron bellowed when he noticed her.

"Hey Ron, Harry!", she answered plastering a zirconium smile on her face.

She let herself drown in meaningless conversation, letting the wave of the mundane (_rinse_) wash over her. She ordered a glass of fire whiskey and ignored her brother's quirked eyebrow and the feel of Draco's stare on her. No time to think, just time to act. She wouldn't be able to remember the words that she had responded too, the jokes she had laughed at later. It was as if her body was on automatic pilot, a conservation instinct that she had long trained taking over and distracting them with regular behavior. It took all her energy to act like she was there when she wasn't. By the end of the evening she was ready to collapse. Her time with her friends was only a chaotic abundance of arbitrary images and sounds, like the world had spanned uncontrollably for those hours, never allowing her to grasp it and gain some stability.

As the idle wind brushed over her skin, it seemed that she could finally let herself sink back into reality. She was aware of Draco's presence and yet it seemed that it was soothing rather than torturous. Although the chilly night was sending shivers through her body, she appreciated the waking effect it had on her. The sound of their steps over the pavement was so familiar it made her feel almost safe. Almost.

She saw him lighting a cigarette as she glanced discretely through the corner of her eye. She chose not to comment on that. It would ruin the moment. And besides, it added to the feeling of familiarity that had taken over her. Focusing on his tall form and stealing peaks at his lips as they drew the electric blue smoke kept her brain busy throughout the rest of walk back home.

"Walk me to my door", she nearly whispered.

His eyes narrowed and a smirk crept its way up to his lips. He didn't say anything. He threw away the cigarette bud and held the door open for her.

Ginny didn't waste much time. As she flicked her wand to open the door and deactivate the wards, she caught the collar of his blue shirt and pulled him inside the apartment. Burning skin and tangled limbs struggled for control. As her sweater flew across the room to land on the counter, Draco drew his lips from hers.

"We said last time that it was the last time.", he reminded her playfully as his hand looked for the bra hook.

"Come on, Malfoy –", she said following his lead, "don't turn moral on me now..."

Enthralled by activities that demanded all his attention Draco Malfoy didn't notice that all the mirrors were covered by velvet curtains.


	2. Raw

Her wand was raised in the guard position that she had learnt a long time ago and that had become a deep rooted habit

A/N: This chapter has some pretty graphic scenes, not sexual but still, if you're easily scared or grossed out turn back. On a more pathetic note, I haven't updated in way too long. What can I say? Lack of reviews does that to me. Didn't want to give up on the story though. And if the response is ok, the updates will be coming in a lot faster.

Her wand was raised in the guard position that she had learnt a long time ago and that had become a deep rooted habit. It was as natural as writing. She prepared herself for the horrors that probably loomed around the corner. After having fought her way through four unfriendlies, caution was her closest ally. She was tired and unfocused. All her concentration had been wasted on aggressive pure-blood fanatics.

Draco had made sure she didn't get much sleep the night before and, although at that point she had thought that a little exhaustion was just what she needed, after getting the urgent message from the boss, she had begun regretting it.

She rounded the corner like she was walking on eggshells. She was ready for anything. Or so she thought. In front of her stood a perfectly groomed Tom Riddle. He didn't look a day older than 25, the dark blue eyes and charcoal hair as hypnotising as ever. He wore a gracefully evil smirk.

„I **am** going insane."

Her thoughts were swimming in her head. None of them was within reach. Focus was out the window. Pale skin and black soul, he was there. Teasing her mind's sanity, convincing her that what lay on the other side was Paradise and not nothingness.

The most unnerving thing about her encounter with Riddle was the lack of fear. Oh, she feared her own reactions and her mind going astray but she never feared him. She never had. She longed for that touch, for those eyes burning into her soul. When she was little she had thought it was love. Growing up she had realised that what she had mistaken for romantic feelings was actually a powerful obsession, something resembling what muggles called Munchausen's. But as hard as she tried she couldn't find an explanation for him being here after such a prolonged absence. Unbeknownst to her friends and family Riddle had followed her around for years after her diary experience. He would haunt her nightmares(dreams) and taint her waken hours with his voice. When Harry defeated Voldemort, Tom was gone. She didn't know what to think? Had he come back? Was her exhausted mind finally bordering madness?

„Hello Ginevra.", his voice rang in her ears. He sounded so casual. His tone was that of a former love running into an old flame on the street.

Her hands itched to reach out and see if he was as material as he looked.

„You might want to watch yourself, darling. You've gotten your robes dirty again."

She looked at her attire. A dark red spot was forming on her stomach. She felt the gut wrenching pain . She knew that a sword had invaded her body. She could feel the steel in her insides even though there was no sign of such a weapon. She collapsed to the floor, blood fighting its way from her throat into her mouth.

As she looked up again she saw that he was laughing. There was nothing evil in that laugh. It was the sound of a man enjoying a particularly good joke. And that's when she felt something that terrified her more than any war scene she had witnessed ever managed to. Pure fear. At the sight of him. The pain in her gut became unimportant. His reaction at her bleeding form was what brought her near madness. In all her childish naivete she never thought he intended to kill her. Not in the chamber and not in later years, when she would dream of silver daggers grazing her skin. But in that moment, her terror was complete and perfect.

„I always liked the sight of your blood Ginevra.", he said when the laughter died down. A smile still caressed his features.

Looking down she discovered her wound now invaded by maggots. A stench of rotten flesh invaded her nostrils. She could feel the disgusting ticklish feeling of the alien bodies in her belly. They were eating away at her, piece by piece she was vanishing in the microscopic mouths of those awful creatures. His laugh touched her ears again and with a frightened scream she saw the world disappeared. There was nothing but darkness.

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Draco found her lying on the wet floor. Drenched in her own sweat she had begun muttering indistinguishable words. His instincts took over. Without waiting to see if the house had been cleared of enemies he Disapparated to Saint Mungo's with a delirious Ginny in his arms.

After reaching the hall of the institution he tried to inconspicuously head towards the ward that dealt with the Auror Department's injured personel.

„What in the name of Merlin?", came the voice of Healer Johnson.

„I don't have time to explain, and I don't think I'd know what to answer if I did. Just fix her."

Malfoy had gotten over the prejudice that had tainted his childhood and the pretentiousness that oozed through his words in his teen years but his voice was still commanding. He seemed convinced that healing was possible and even if it wasn't, he didn't seem to be willing to accept that option.

Former Quidditch Captain, Angelina Johnson, gave a curt nod and levitated Ginny in a room that was discreetly framed by two artificial plants. After muttering the necessary words, a door knob appeared on the right side of the white door.

After handing Ginny to the Healer, Draco dropped his frame into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He was at a loss for what to do next. After the initial rush of adrenaline had stopped surfing his bloodstream panic took over. What if she wasn't going to be ok? What if she had been hit with something there was no cure for? A thousand terrifying possibilities ran through his head and he realised that for the first time in a long time, he was actually scared. Scared shitless. Using all of the concentration he had left, he forced himself to calm down and take control of his own raging thoughts.

He got up and headed to the hospital's messagery. He used an owl to send word to Weasley and Potter.

He reanalysed the situation. Ginny and him had been sent to clear a „nest" of fanatics. Their informant had said that there were four unfriendlies meeting in an abandoned house in the woods. They had gone in when they noticed that the back up they had been promised was tardy and the situation urgently demanded intervention. He knew Ginny had taken care of four of the individuals assembled in the hut and he had petrified the „pack leader" and his right hand man. When looking for Ginny to tell her that there was no longer any threat to deal with, he heard the scream and found her passed out, muttering senseless words. But why was she in that state. They had dealt with the „unfriendlies". There was no one in the house that could have done that to her. Unless their informant was mistaken, or he lied. He made a mental note to have a meeting with Norman.

Just as he was plotting his tactic he saw a flash of red hair heading towards him. Weasley was nearing him with fear transforming his features.

„ Where is she?"

Draco nodded towards the concealed door his hand in his pockets.

„What happened?", came another demanding question.

The blond haired wizard told Ron what he knew and proceeded to drown in his own thoughts, most of them revolving around what he was going to do to that little piece of shit Norman when he found him.

Potter arrived shortly after his explanations and posed the same questions as his partner. Since Ron knew the story, Draco was spared having to repeat it.

The door opened and Angelina Johnson emerged.

Before she could be assaulted with questions she began speaking.

„She's going to be fine.", she said and then looked around seeming to try to find her words.

„What was wrong with her?", Draco asked.

Angelina looked at them with an awkward expression.

„I'm not sure. I think it's psychological. There is no physical cause to her distress."

„You mean it's all in her head?", Ron inquired outraged.

„I can't tell for sure. There are no physical explanations. I gave her a calming draught and that settled her. At this point the only cause I could point at is stress and over work. And that is just guess work. I've never encountered a similar case before. I will consult with my colleagues and keep you informed. But rest assured, she is fine now and you will al be able to speak to her and ask her what you wish in a couple of hours."

After Angelina's speech, the three men remained silent. Draco Malfoy could honestly state that the two hours that followed the Healer's explanation were the longest of his life. He found himself going to the indoor garden every 10 minutes to have a smoke and try to calm down. His mind was invaded by questions and would it not have been for his trained self control he would have surely given in to a nervous breakdown. Because the mystery that clouded Ginny's condition was not the only thing bothering him. His forceful reaction to the entire situation was almost as worrying. He cared for his partner, of course. But did that really justify the intense fear that the sight of her frail form collapsed on a cold floor produced?

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Ginny awoke to her brother's face. His warm hand was gently squeezing hers and a sigh of relief exited his lips upon seeing her eyes open.

„What happened?", she asked in a weak voice.

Ron told her how Draco had found her and brought her to St Mungo's. At the mention of her partner's name her eyes ran across the room in search of his reassuring frame. And surely enough, there he was. Leaning on a white wall, his hands in his pockets, his tall frame seeming to have shrunk under an unknown burden. His handsome features were placid, but she knew him well. He was worried. And the only other time she saw him worried was during the war, while he was searching desperately for his mother.

„Thanks Drake."

„Don't mention it, pixie. You've been a pain in my ass for some time now. I'm used to it." A smile graced his face and his eyes became unreadable again.

„Gin? What happened?"

Indeed… what had happened? She made an effort to remember and as soon as the memory sprung in her mind she wished to be struck by amnesia.

„I don't remember Ron.", she lied tiredly."I remember rounding a corner in that stupid place and then everything went dark. Next thing I know, I'm here. What did the Mediwitch say was wrong with me?"

„She said that there seems to be no physical explanation to what happened. Your body is fine."

Ginny tried to find the trace of an explanation.

„Maybe there was someone else in the hut.", she said trying to sound convinced. "And the bastard probably used some untraceable sort of magic on me."

„Yeah. That must be it.", Ron replied with a certainty that greatly outpowered hers.

As she fell back in the arms of sweet unconsciousness she couldn't help but taint her relief with fear. The fact that she had no injuries was another sign that she was losing her mind. She wanted to believe that such a thing was impossible. That Riddle had found a way to escape hell and come back to torture her. But she knew as well as the next Auror that witches and wizards were not immune to madness.

A/N: That's it folks. The second chapter. Let me know how you like it.


	3. Drunk on shadows

A/N: This chapter is going to contain a lot of flash backs and dream sequences

A/N: This chapter is going to contain a lot of flash backs and dream sequences. Present time and reality are almost non existent. Just so you don't get confused. On with it then.

Her fourth year at Hogwarts was when he appeared. She had been having awkward nightmares all summer. Not the usual kind. The usual kind consisted in vivid flash backs from the chamber of secrets. Sometimes it would have different outcomes. Harry wouldn't be there, or he would have arrived to late. This kind had nothing childish about it. All the innocence seemed to be slipping from her. No more infantile fears, no more normal concerns. She even started thinking that Voldemort had found a way to possess her again, since he was corporeal again. But, after asking a few subtly placed questions, she decided that it was nearly impossible for him to get ahold of her mind with no actual contact. She accepted the nightmares. Or at least she tried to. Ginny started avoiding sleep and would only collapse when exhaustion became unbearable. And then, her sleep was full of vivid images and scenes. She would stand in a corner, watching hypnotised as hooded figures killed and tortured faceless men and women.

Now, back in her dorm room, she was starting to hope that the dreams would stop. The intensity that they had had during the last few weeks of summer had killed that hope. But the dreams stopped when the school year started, almost two weeks ago. She opened her eyes and stretched her sleepy muscles. Another average day. Breakfast, classes, homework, practice, homework. No need for haunted looks, for looking over ones shoulder. No crimson tainting the alabaster skin.

She rose from the red (crimson) covers and went to the vanity that the four sixth year Gryffindor girls shared. She had slept in, all her mates were out, enjoying the lasts shreds of honey-ed autumn sun. She used her brush to tame the fiery curls. Her eyes rose to the mirror and smiled at the reflection. Nothing unusual today, she thought as she started applying make up.

"Nothing unusual indeed, love."

She knew that voice. She knew its taste, she knew its texture, its smell, its inflections. She searched the room for him, hope and despair fighting their way from her subconscious. Was she sleeping? Where was the oniric daze? She looked in the mirror once more. And found him.

"Sleep well?"

Her heart began pounding in her chest. He wasn't there. He couldn't be. There was no way he could get in the castle. Her mind was fervently looking for something to rationalise the situation, she was blindly searching for stable ground, something to sink her thoughts into.

He was abandoning his place near the windows and walking slowly towards her. Her skin sung with anticipation, her mind was drowning in terror. What was happening to her? He stopped a few feat away.

"You know I wouldn't hurt you, Ginevra."

She knew. But she could hurt herself for him. And now his presence was hurting her grasp on sanity. He wasn't there she told herself, shutting her eyes and enjoying the black view. He wasn't truly there.

Her troubled mind ran into a predicament. If he was there, it meant he had come back for her. She would be at his whim once again, free will an illusion. There was no way she could resist her love for him. He appreciated her beauty, listened to her when no one would. But he would make her do dreadful things, he would take advantage of her trust and weakness. But if he wasn't there, then control would be equally unachievable. Her mind was not her own. Unseen, unknown forces were deciding what she perceived as reality, and reality was like a beloved smell, making her crave its taste without showing its presence.

When she dared open her eyes again, he was gone. No dramatic laughter, no smoke. Just mirrors.

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He was staring at her from a distance. He didn't dwell on his lack of courage. He was no bloody Griffindor. Their occasional verbal sparring was something he looked for and did his best to trigger. There was something in her that held him back today. She seemed dangerous. Draco had seen his fair share of dangerous men and women. The look on Voldemort's face when he realised what side the young Malfoy was playing for was forever engraved on his brain. There had been power radiating from the Dark Lord then, a peculiar sort of calm rage that told him exactly how agonisingly slow he would die if they ever crossed paths. Those snake like eyes, with their vertical pupils swimming in poisoned green had turned black(darkbluealmostblack) for a moment and Draco had fled. He wasn't ashamed of it. He was who he was. Draco had realised long ago that he possessed neither the power nor the talent to ever be a threat to the Dark Lord. He was however smarter and less arrogant. For a pure blooded purist (father says) he had strange ideas on what survival was. He had enough talent to be noticed and he was a quick study. He was fast and intuitive, but what made Draco Malfoy special amongst the other aspiring Death Eaters was what the despicable Muggles called intelligence. He realised that the reign of terror wouldn't last, he realised he hated his father and he realised that he could learn many useful spells if he continued to act like his only wish was to become another lap dog for the Master. His loyalties didn't lay with the Order or Voldemort's little assembly of morons. His loyalties lay only with himself. And he hated the people Lucius associated with. His childhood experience had been laced with them, with mindless, power hungry idiots who didn't realise that the most their Lord would bestow upon them would be Cruciatus and a guilty conscience. Draco understood that people were prone to emotions. It was impossible for human beings to not feel. And Voldemort would make sure that if his followers loved or cared they would pay for it. The Big Git himself never had such a problem. Of course not, how could he? His blood was maybe pure enough, but it ran thin in his veins. The only thing delivered to his brain was insanity, arrogance and unfortunately talent. The ghost of Slytherin's cunning was all that kept that delirious arsehole in charge, if you asked Draco. However, you probably wouldn't have gotten that answer if you asked him. He was too smart to actually say that.

She was hugging her middle, her cognac eyes staring blankly at the lake. She had that same calm rage about her that morning. She wasn't there. She was in her head. And by the looks of it, she was terrified with her surroundings. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from her torture.

He was infatuated with the little Weasley and had been ever since she saw her heading into a library with a chocolate egg for Potter the hero, in his fourth year. He had taken to observing her from the shadows since then. It seemed somehow fitting that his one true emotion was only revealed in the shadows. The true Draco Malfoy was a shadow. He was not the arrogant slimy ferret with a crude hurtful comment for everyone. That was Lucius Malfoy's son. Draco Malfoy, the person, was silent, observant and dangerous. A true Slytherin. Not like one of those fools who seemed to have the Gryffindor tendency of shooting their mouths off and meaning every word. He was safely concealed under a mask that his father unknowingly provided.

Draco checked his surroundings. There were no students or teachers in this part of the grounds. They were too close to the Forbidden Forest. Not even Hagrid frequented those parts. They were entirely deserted. No interestingly dangerous creatures to make friends with, no potential nourishment for his little experiments.

For the first time in his life, curiosity got the best of Draco Malfoy. That's alright, he would tell himself later, curiosity was a part of being human and, although it should best be kept in check, not acting on it from time to time might drive one insane or uncautious. And so, with an utter lack of caution, he walked over to the tree Ginny Weasley was leaning on.

She had noticed him and seemed to be pulling herself together trying to find the coherence necessary to snark at him. Her weary mind couldn't even muster up surprise when he just seated his perfectly tailored robes on the ground. She followed his motion, crossing her legs and enjoying the comfortable silence. He pulled up a pack of cigarettes. He offered her one. With trembling hands, she grabbed it without thanking him and lighted it using her wand. He imitated her actions hoping she wouldn't ask how he knew that she smoked.

For the better part of an hour they both sat there, smoking until their throats were soar, fighting away demons that were now a part of them. Draco let his frustration sink out of him, along with the smoke that exited his lungs. Ginny grasped sanity and reality. As nicotine invaded her body her thoughts slowly stopped being undefined. She was gathering up the pieces and gluing them back together with smoke. Tom was haunting her. She could accept that. No need to worry the others. She didn't want to become Lockart's new ward mate. She had dealt with enough on her own. Speaking her mind and letting others deal with her problems wasn't her M.O. Not even the hero of the Wizarding World, the one thought by most to be Voldemort's only match, could battle her insanity. It was a fight she would have to lose all on her own.

Draco's unusual behavior didn't phase her. Ginny was certain the blond boy wasn't what he seemed. There was silence under his pompous tempest. And if the circumstances were different, maybe she would try to find out what kind of silence it was. But Riddle's presence in her mind and in her room was all she could focus on.

Maybe Ginny could handle being haunted by Riddle, but could she handle being hunted by him?

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Ginny had a white cotton dress on. Her feet were bear as she walked down the empty street, making her way through the mutilated bodies of humans and animals. She was nearing the dead end. At her right was a grey cat. Her insides were sprawled on the wet pavement. One of her eyes had been taken out and her head was covered in rain and blood. She had dragged herself near the decapitated head of a kitten and was licking it, desperately trying to revive it. The cat didn't have enough energy to mourn the loss of its offspring. Her torture maddened mind was focused on the futile task at hand.

Sadness and death was everywhere. Cruelty seemed to have hit the streets. And there, near the wall that blocked freedom, stood Tom Riddle, impeccably dressed, still seventeen, still evil.

"I love what you've done with the place, Ginevra. I've taught you well."

Ginny woke covered in cold sweat.

She could still feel the blood on her hands even though she knew that it wasn't there. She got out of the bed checking to see if she was wearing her usual pajamas or the dream dress. A sigh of relief made its way to her lips. She headed to the bathroom to clean herself of the sweat and the blood she could feel all over herself.

A/N: And from here Ginny went into the bathroom and that's what you guys saw in Chapter 1. I'm a big fan of unusual time lines so bear with me. I felt like I owed you an explanation. Of course there's more explaining to do but what would be the fun if I would have given everything away now. Hope you guys like this. I'm pretty insecure about it so your thoughts on it would help a great deal. Like it? Review! Didn't like it? Review! Pretty please?


	4. Back in Business

Her mind was on fire

A/N: I thought I should set some things straight. First, the story only follows canon up until the fifth book. Draco is supposed to kill Dumbledore but he doesn't want to so he becomes a spy for the Order doing pretty much the same thing Snape was doing, though not at the same level. Draco was in on the whole Snape killing the headmaster plan. The war ends the summer after Harry's sixth year. Snape's reputation is cleared and they all carry on with their lives. Till now...Is she insane, or is he really back?: )

Her mind was on fire. Her flesh was melting. He was touching her and oh-dear-gods, it was the sweetest touch in the world. Only he could do that to her skin, make it talk, make it tell him what she wanted, what she needed from him. Eyelids covering lustful eyes, shallow breaths and limbs intertwined. He was touching her hair, fire, lava, lust. Her eyes met his and a playful smirk rose to his lips. A smirk she rarely got to see now that he was free to be his silent self but that she inwardly missed. She gave into the sensation and incandescent darkness covered her eyes again.

"Draco..", his name tasted so good. So harsh and tender, just like him. Mysterious and full of tradition. Caught in another time, in another dimension, just their own. There were no dangers, her mind and body were his but this time she didn't mind not belonging to herself. He would never abuse the power. She had the same brand of control over him, she knew it, she felt it.

"Not Draco, Ginevra. We don't like traitors, remember?"

Her eyes opened and didn't see the grey she had prayed for. There was nothing but bitter blue and cheerful laughter that hurt her ears and numbed her body.

"I'm back for you. I promised, didn't I?"

And his touch hurt. His mere fingers on her felt like daggers. Daggers digging for blood.

"So pure..", he said as he watched crimson pearls form on her shoulder, "I've always loved to see you bleed for me, love."

"Ginny..."

No, not Ginny. She would never be Ginny to him. She was Ginevra. Could she ever be Ginny again?

"Come on Gin, wake up."

Of course... Ron. To Ron she was Ginny. Ron didn't know Ginevra, Ron didn't know what Ginevra could do, how she could watch innocent people die, how she would watch as they were tortured, pure fascination kidnapping her mind. Who was Ginny? A creature born from the perceptions of others. Sweet, smart, pretty Ginny. Ginny was pretty, Ginevra was beautiful. But she wasn't either one. She was just another one, another one being lead into nothingness.

"I'm up."

"Time to get you home."

She nodded weakly and tried to get out of the white sheets. Her head was spinning madly. The calming draught had relaxed all of her muscles and they now refused to function. She had been sleeping for so long she had begun to think she might be dead. And the possibility that even that realm was invaded by Tom made her cling to life desperately.

Her vision cleared, and this time she saw the grey she had craved earlier. Without a word he picked her up and headed towards the fireplaces.

"You could have just levitated her.", she heard Ron's voice from afar.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Two weeks had passed since "Ginny's incident". Two Tom filled weeks. Weeks during which the pavement seemed to move and the air felt solid, like tar in her lungs.

She was going back to work today. With mechanical movements she walked to the closet. She picked out a random robe, not glancing at its colour like she would have three weeks ago. She dressed herself and glanced at the covered mirror. No make up today. Her pale complexion and the bruises exhaustion had left around her eyes would not be covered. She dreaded the questions. Dealing with concerned gossip and genuine preoccupation would take all her strength and the effort ahead frightened her. But seeing what was reflected in that mirror was a far more terrifying battle.

She couldn't stop thinking. That was her problem. Her mind never rested. Always bothered with the question of insanity, with the possibility of another war. She was so careful to avoid mirrors that she had forgotten that glass also reflected images. Looking at the pouring rain she had the intense feeling she was the one being watched, like the drops of rain had grown eyes and were accusing her, taunting her, humiliating her, like children do on the playground with the ones that don't fit in. But the rain was as much her friend as it always had been. The one staring at her was Riddle. She noticed his eyes on her face, on the face reflected by the mirror. He smiled sweetly and rose a finger to his perfectly shaped lips, hushing her like they were sharing some delicious little secret.

She Disapparated with a tired pop.

-T-

"You're desking me.", it was a statement not a question.

"I'd like to Weasley...But no, I'm not.", Kingsley Shackleboard almost groaned.

She felt a weight being lifted off her chest. Since the Head of the Auror Department started speaking about how stressed she must be, and how seeing action would not be good for her Ginny had begun thinking that he was going to stick her with some overdue paperwork that wouldn't require her entire focus. One that would allow her to follow her thoughts into realms unknown. She fought a shiver, not wanting to exhibit any sign of weakness that might help change his mind.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil Shackleboard carried on.

"We just don't have enough people now. And we need you on the field. Plus, no one else would be able to put up with Malfoy.", he finished with a lame attempt at a joke.

She smiled convincingly.

"I won't let you down, boss."

Ginny walked out of the office and wrapped her cloak around herself more tightly as she heard the door shut behind her. She went to her desk where her brother, Harry and Draco had been waiting. Before making her presence known she took in the sight in front of her. The three men she was closest to. Would her mind ever allow her to enjoy their company again? Ron sat on her chair, his hand in his hair and a concerned look on his face once more. She was beginning to thing that her older brother was the one that needed a break. A pregnant wife at home and a sister in the hospital was a combination that would have made most men crumble.

Harry stood tall with his hands crossed over his chest. His green eyes were shining under his spectacles and his hair was as unbehaved as ever. Her first crush. He had changed so little. **The war** had changed him so little. He might be hiding it, but Ginny didn't believe that. Harry hadn't been changed by the confrontation with Voldemort. He had known what his fate was all along. Even if the Dark Lord's obsession with killing him hadn't branded the idea into his head, the prophecy had. Too bad the prophecy never said anything about a surprise come-back. It might have made her less insecure about her mental health.

And Draco. Leaning on her desk, silver locks falling over silver eyes. He was as lost in thought as she felt. So taciturn. She secretly thought that their friendship had started one autumn day, near the lake. Sharing silence and cigarettes. But that had been a long time ago, and for years there had been no other contact. Until she walked into the Auror's department and was sentenced to be his partner. The verdict seemed like a favour now. She didn't dare think about their other arrangements. She didn't dare think she might be in love with him. Tom would have a field day_(night(mare))_ with that one. But it was too late, wasn't it? She had already thought about it. Bracing herself, she went over to them to brief them in on her conversation with the boss.

"Seat you arse back in that chair, Ronnikins. Baby sis is not fired, nor is she desked", she said, air quoting the last word. "Shackleboard cleared me."

Ron seemed flabbergasted. His mouth was struggling to word all the thoughts that had sprung into his head. Ronnikins? Now that was just low. What was Sheackleboard thinking? Gin was clearly fragile. What did she mean, arse? Ladies don't talk like that.

He was spared having to pick one idea by his partner's quick reaction.

"Congratulations, Ginny. But don't you think you need more rest?"

"Harry, if I get more rest, I'll go insane."

And, she reflected, that wasn't even a lie.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Draco was looking for Ginny. Now, didn't that bring back memories.

He had searched everywhere. She wasn't getting coffee, she wasn't in the bathroom _(mirror filled bathrooms) _she wasn't at her desk or with her brother and Potter. Feeling that this called for extreme measures he went to the little abandoned garden. And sure enough, there she was, smoking a cigarette like the nicotine was food for the soul.

He hadn't been fooled by her acting. Yeah, she was cracking the jokes and handing sarcasm out like it was candy on Holloween, just like she normally would. But he wasn't buying the act. Her eyes were blank, like she had gone past fear long ago. Her skin was paler than usual. Even her freckles had disappeared under the white mask.

Ginny didn't want people to know she wasn't ok. She didn't want people to ask what was the matter with her. She wanted to pretend. Very well. Two could play that game.

"Hey there. I'm looking for a fiery little redhead. Seen one around?", he said flirtatiously.

Ginny took another long drag out of her cigarette. Her eyes didn't seem to want to meet his. He didn't receive the almost credible smile he had been expecting. She didn't want to play.

"No. I'll let you know if I do.", she replied in an unamused tone.

Draco was taken aback by her attitude. Ginny wasn't acting. She had done her best to convince the entire department that her mind and body were fine. But the pretense was gone. For the first time in weeks, they were alone. And for the first time in weeks she wasn't acting like she wanted the Academy Award. It troubled him that she was comfortable around him. Actually, what troubled him was his reaction to her trust. Relief was flooding his senses. She felt she could confide in him. He felt himself growing vulnerable to her actions and reactions. Just like a love sick school boy. Draco was interpreting every gesture, every word, searching for hidden meanings behind veiled eyes. No matter how accepting he was when it came to the weaknesses that nature had bestowed upon the human race, this particular brand of soft point was bothersome. It had all been triggered by her episode. It made buried feelings surface, made him realise that no matter how well he hid his weaknesses they were there and he was forced to follow their command.

"We're leaving in thirty minutes. An assignment. Seems important."

"How come we didn't know about it 'till now if it's so important?", she agreed to stick to business.

"Apparently the Department is afraid of snitches. The intervention team was informed as late as possible."

"And the intervention team is...?"

"Me, you, Potter, Weasley, Nightwood and Stirges."

Ginny met his eyes for the first time that morning. Hope was radiating from entire body. Adrenaline was already pumping in her veins. Nothing better than a little potentially deadly assignment to keep her mind from going into overdrive.

"Lead the way."

He wrinkled his nose at the cliche but motioned for her to follow him anyway. There was no actual need for his avant garde. They were heading towards the Apparition Hall. Shackleboard had been paranoid enough to put anti-Apparition wards all over the floor, with the exception of a small room that could barely be called a hall. It had gotten the name because of its importance, not its size. The boss considered it to be conspicuous for more than two Aurors to Disapparate from any other place in the Ministry. It would have clued people in on the existence of a mission. Despite his sometimes exaggerated measures, Shackleboard's paranoia had done the Department good, in Draco's opinion.

As he headed towards the Hall with Ginny following his footsteps, excitement started to show its head. He hadn't been on a mission for two weeks. The entire intervention staff had been filling out overdue paperwork and handling boring cases that nearly fell under the jurisdiction of the Magical Law Enforcement Department.

Thinking about the adventure to come, Draco Disapparated with the rest of the team.

-T-

The six took in their surrounding, analysing the situation in order to feel safe enough to draw a plan of action. They found themselves in a deserted part of Muggle London. The location the boss had picked had been carefully reviewed. The team was flanked by two worn down buildings. Their task was to check both constructions and arrest all the people they found. According to the information Shackleboard had provided them, the places were deserted and any occupant would most likely be an enemy.

Minutes later the plan was formed. Sturgis, Draco and Ginny would take the building on their right, while Potter, Weasley and Nightwood inspected the other one.

Moving as silently as they could, and just as cautiously as they had been trained, the first group entered the premises. Following orders, they stayed together, making sure to go through every room. The first two floors were as deserted as they seemed. On the third one, the three could make out voices coming from one of the rooms near the bottom of the hall. Words started to be distinguishable and Draco silently thanked the gods for the stupidity of the criminals. They hadn't even bothered to cast a Muffliato.

"I hear he has a plan."

"Yeah, right. Lot of good that did us the last time. His plans suck. If we'd rely on his plans we'd never get to..."

Before another word could be uttered someone made a shushing noise in the apartment.

Instincts took over. The group realised they had been discovered. They tightened their grips on the wands and prepared for the attack. Thirty seconds later a door opened. A tall, well built man dressed in jeans and a simple muggle shirt made his way out, his wand squeezed tightly by a trembling hand. In a matter of seconds, all hell broke loose. The man let out a growl and his three mates appeared by his side instantly. Soon enough, both parties were shouting curses and beads of colorful light were flying in all directions.

Ginny saw one of the unfriendlies dodge the curses and run down the stairs. There was no time to inform the others. Separating herself from the group, she hurried after the unknown man. She slalomed through the curses and by the time she had reached the stairs herself, her heart was racing and she had enough adrenaline in her blood stream to lift a car.

She cornered the enemy on the first floor. He had reached a dead end. His panic fueled mind had confused the room where the portal had been stored. He cursed his buddies for suggesting that they find a more welcoming apartment. They had left the portal in the room they landed in and now he was stuck.

The redheaded witch in front of him wore a dangerous smile as she closed in on him, her wand raised. In a last attempt to avoid Veritaserum he shouted a curse.

Ginny waited for the bead of light, her reflexes ready. She was prepared to duck, jump or turn around and flee. But she never saw it. The man had cursed himself. He had collapsed on the filthy floor. His wand had been shattered to pieces by the power of the spell. His breathing was erratic. She neared his dying form, disgust and bitter pity molding her features.

A soft cough, accompanied by bright red blood. He smiled at her. A wicked smile, she thought. A knowing smile. Seconds later he had closed his eyes.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The entire Department was gathered around the two Weasleys. Their fights were famous among the Aurors.

"You could have been killed!", Ron shouted.

"What am I? Six? I've had the same training you've had Ronald. I know how to take care of myself."

"You just ran off! You didn't even tell your team! That's against fucking regulations!", he carried on, ignoring her response.

"There was no bloody time, you idiot!"

"The guy killed himself anyway! You put yourself in harm's way for nothing!"

"You blind prick! What if he had gotten away, huh? What then?"

"I don't give a shit! What would I have told mum and dad if you'd gotten yourself injured, or worse, killed? Especially since they knew you were still shaken over that..."

"Danger is in the job description!", she interrupted enraged.

"Exactly! Why the fuck did you have to go and become and Auror, Ginevra?"

All the blood in her body rushed from her head. Her skin turned an impossible shade of white. She was almost transparent. All the anger was drained from her in an instant.

"Why did **you**?", she asked her brother, looking as lifeless as a rock.

Ginny turned around and left the office.

-T-

She was smoking again. And he was once more in the shadows, observing. She looked defeated, exhausted, fragile. Her lips were trembling slightly like she was trying to say something that was stuck in her throat. Deciding Ginny needed her privacy, Draco left his dark corner and went in search of another smoking spot.

Just as he turned his back, Ginny's lips managed to regurgitate one word.

"Ginevra...", she whispered.

Oh, how she wished she could cry.

A/N: I think this is the largest chapter to date. Hope you guys enjoy it. I really appreciate all the favs but, please please please also leave a review. They keep me going, give me confidence, improve my skills, give me ideas. So this is it. Please Review.


	5. I dream what you're dreaming

Norman Cringer was a small, round man

thisA/N: So this is it folks. We finally find out if the rest of the story will take place in an insane asylum, where Ginny will be fighting of an unreal Riddle or in the bad ass Wizarding World, where a team will once again be assembled to try and rid the community of an old threat. I wasn't sure which one to choose (lie - I've known all along). BTW it is M rated and it is a horror fic so if you're easily scared or offended turn back now. No sex, but some very disturbing imagery awaits.

Norman Cringer was a small, round man. He had small black eyes and a round, grease drowned face. His hands were always shaking and his nose always running. Even though his brain wasn't impressive, the modest storage space it had, had been taken up by illicit affairs and illegal dealings. He was the man both sides turned to when in need of information. He soon found out that his mediocre education would not do much for him in way of finance in the real world and picked up a few, easy to learn tricks. He managed to round up informants. What Norman had, that had aided him in his notorious career, was cunning. He was never a talented enough wizard to go to Hogwarts or a smart enough man to make it in the Muggle world. So he decided to use the few characteristics nature had endowed him with to get ahead as a snitch. He had laid low during the war. He was a coward, through and through. He had had ample time to formulate a plan. It was obvious that even when the major conflict would die out there would still be opposite sides. Norman made sure to become neutral and began selling intelligence to both parties. Which was, if truth be told, sublimely ironic. It had taken work and dedication, but not as much as he had initially predicted. People were more eager to spill the beans and cover their own behinds than he had ever dared to dream.

Both Aurors and felons came to him for what he liked to think of as guidance. The key to his operation was covering what needed to be covered and revealing what would bring in the galleons. When, and if, really important information came his way, he would sell it to neither side. That was how Norman Cringer maintained neutrality.

Today was a quiet day at the office. Even though, by the looks of it, something big was headed their way, Norman had made a point out of staying clear of it. Looking at the rain from his leather chair, he rubbed his temples and started thinking about what take out he would get tonight. Being who he was, the work never actually stopped. He would sometimes get owls or house calls late in the night. But he didn't mind. He was secretly proud of his career. It made him feel less average.

A bang on the door distracted Norman from pondering the menu du nuit.

„Malfoy!", he squealed.

Draco had always thought that Cringer was a cross between Mundungus Fletcher and Wormtail. Like the two had molded together in a dumber, more cautious person. Disgust radiated from him every time he had to meet with this poor excuse for a man. Despite Norman's well paid job and luxury filled life, he was still a loser.

„Well would you look at that? Ol' Norm'. What you been up to lately, buddy?", Draco asked, his words dripping with fake cheer." Put any Aurors into a coma lately?"

„I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Malfoy.", Cringer said, regaining his composure.

The two men watched each other silently, waiting for the other to make the next step. Draco wanted to catch the little rat with his guard down, Norman was trying to guess what story he needed to come up with.

Draco's casual attitude was like a thin layer of ice and Norman could almost feel the freezing water beneath it.

„I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. We're closed for the night."

„Oh, come on ol' pal.", Draco drawled with a threatening smirk on his face „Since when are you on a schedule?"

Norman was searching his brain for something to say. He was digging deep in his glands to find saliva so as not to choke. Looking in the cold silver eyes of the 6'3 man in front of him, he began considering early retirement.

„I…", Norman was fighting to get the words out but polite dismissals were far from his grasp.

The ice broke.

With inhuman force, the blond wizard threw himself across the room and gripped the hems of Norman's shirt tightly, the pressure choking, blinding, burning. The small man was breathing heavily, fear and sweat wetting his skin. Draco was still casual and calm. His breaths even and his eyes as cool as ever.

„Come on, mate… Where's the honesty?"

Malfoy's straight teeth looked like fangs behind the curtain of his lips. There were two kinds of fear, Norman thought. Fear of evil and fear of instincts. Malfoy may not have been evil but he looked like an untamed animal. A gracious deadly feline.

„Who else was in that safehouse?"

„I have… no.. idea…wh.."

„Don't fucking lie to me!", despite the obvious exclamation mark, the taller wizard's voice was still low.

The fist came out of nowhere. When he would recover from the altercation, Norman would struggle to explain its presence. Both Malfoy's hands were gripping his shirt, and yet there had been a blow to his gut. And it had been delivered by his arm. He still had four knuckle shaped bruises.

Cringer hissed and coughed, blank spots exploding in front of his eyes. He started praying for help and forgiveness.

„Dear Merlin…"

„Are you that anxious to have your skin change colour? Because I hear purple's in this season."

Finally realising that Malfoy wouldn't back down until he got what he came for, he relented, already making plans to flee the country. This was the biggest news since Harry Potter's victory. He would have to try and only feed Draco snippets.

„There was someone else in there. I was forbidden to talk about it. You have to understand…", his speech was fast and nervous „ …I can't tell you. They'll kill me."

„And if they don't, I will. How's that for an effective cliche?"

Norman Cringer started thinking faster than he had ever done in his life. Would this man really kill him? Draco Malfoy looked like the main character of a novel. Handsome, tall, silent and brooding. A gentleman with a past. But was he really a murderer? Looking into his arctic grey eyes, Norman realised that the answer was yes. Because what that book wouldn't reveal was that the past was one that would turn any person into a highly disturbed individual. Oh, he'd kill him alright. He'd probably torture him first and then, after he'd get bored, he'd perform Avada like it was daily routine. Get up, go to work, get home, drink a glass of Merlot and chase it down with the exquisite taste of an Unforgivable. There would be no sleep lost over it, no remorse, no nightmares. When it comes to a man like this one, having horrifying dreams about taking human lives has to wait. He had other demons to deal with. So there was a crack in the otherwise perfect diamond cut of the last Malfoy. Deep down, he was just as bad as his departed old man. Just as cruel.

„I can't…", Norman started crying.

„I was hoping you'd say that", he said with another grin.

Faster than the eye could see, Malfoy had produced a vile of potion from his robes and had forced it down poor Norman's throat.

„Who else was there?"

Norman could feel his mouth opening. Drenched in panic, his brain ordered his mouth to close, ordered his heart to stop, his lungs to cease accepting air. But his body didn't listen. The only experience that resembled this was astral projection. However, it wasn't quite the same. Instead of being able to see his body, he was able to feel it. It was like his will was gone, like it was stuck in a mortal coil that he had never left before. This was a new shell, one he recognised but couldn't control.

„The Dark Lord", the voice that exited his lips wasn't his own. All fear was gone, all inflections lost.

„Isn't he dead?", Draco asked more enraged than surprised, a slight drop of exasperation mixing itself into his tone.

„I do not know how he managed to come back.'

His eyes were seeing Malfoy get more and more frustrated, but his face couldn't mirror the superior smirk his mind had conjured.

„What does he want with Ginny?"

„He wants her by his side. And he will stop at nothing to get her."

„Will he kill her?"

„I do not know."

Draco fought the urge to ask the man what he thought Voldemort's plans with Ginny were. This buffoon didn't have a brain. Whatever explanation he had come up with would be limited by his own stupidity and would thus be unuseful.

Draco was processing the information. In typical Slytherin fashion, his first instinct was to run. When „fight or flight" situations ensue it's never a question what Salazar's followers will choose. But this was Ginny, his one weakness. He realised that this wasn't a selfless act, there was no such thing when it came to humans. He wanted her for himself. Love was just another way to spell selfish And if she would end up dead or owned by Voldemort he would no longer be able to state his claim.

„What else do you know?"

„Link."

„What?" His mother voice scolded him from beyond the grave…Draco, we do not say „what"! We way excuse me, or pardon me., stupid rules devised to avoid offending prying ears.

„I heard the word link."

_Loads of good that does me_…, Draco's anger started exploding behind closed eyelids, _.But this idiot probably has no idea about the Chamber of Secrets episode._

„Anything else?"

A blank mask had covered Norman Cringer's features. Devoid of fear he looked neither like a rat nor like an overgrown guinea pig. He looked like a plank of wood. Designed by the gods to be unrecognisable in a crowd. Too unimportant to ever be paid attention to.

Denying himself the right to panic, Draco headed towards the nearest Apparition spot.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Ginny was exhausted. Every cell in her body was aching for rest. Her fingernails hurt from lack of sleep. Every single hair on her scalp was digging its roots into her brain trying to torture her into collapse. Her skin felt like it would fall off, her organs like they were disintegrating. Light hurt her eyes, darkness froze her bones. The air felt solid once again. All her senses were trying to block out reality and jonesing for blissful nothingness. But Ginny knew better. If she allowed sleep to conquer her body, what awaited on the other side would not be void.

Feeling like she could black out at any moment, Ginny walked over to the silk covered bed, her arms still wrapped around her shivering form. She approached it as if it were a land mine. She was aware of the fact that if she didn't allow her muscles to relax she would end up hospitalized and forced to answer another set of awkward questions.

She focused on the light blue ceiling. For a minute she wished that she was still at Hogwarts, able to count the stars from her room by just glancing upwards. Her tired eyes could almost see the constellations. The same ones she would count and try to identify, just as Professor Sinistra had taught her. Draco was shining bright; her tired mind didn't even question the physical impossibility of the occurrence. Trying to catch herself before falling asleep she pinched her forearm. Still slightly scared, she took in her surroundings. Amongst the familiar furniture, a cradle had infiltrated itself. She was trying to convince herself she was sleeping. She was having another bad dream (_just like children do_). But the all too realistic perception she had destroyed yet another weed of hope. The wood was carved with style and through the oak bars, a being was fidgeting. No matter how hard she worked on persuading her legs to listen to her brain, they wouldn't. She soon found herself next to the crib.

Glancing up at her with innocent eyes was a sweet little baby boy. His hair was dark and his eyes navy blue. She didn't need knowledge on genetics to guess whose baby boy it was. Despite the tender age, his lips seemed to form a word. Knowing what it would be, she swiftly grabbed the pillow upon which the baby's head was resting and placed it over its head. The muscles in her arms were tense and her throat was swimming in unshed tears as she heard the choking sounds. The pillow was smothering most of them but the symphony of death was easy to recognise.

The little arms stopped struggling, the whimpering ceased. Ginny allowed her own arms to relax. Upon lifting the pillow she saw the face of an infant long dead, green flesh and eyes open. Not even stopping to ponder how it(_he_) had managed to upon its eyes while its face was covered, Ginevra Weasley grabbed her purse and calmly Apparated to Saint Mungo's.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The Auror department was hectic in the morning. Paperwork had to be filled and coffee had to be inhaled. Draco entered the Grand Hall with uncalculated wrath. He had banged on Ginny's door for hours. For a few desperate seconds he even pondered blasting it open. But fear for his life and the information he possessed stopped him dead in his thoughts. He knew the witch could cast some mean wards.

Ron Weasley barely had time to see him before he was standing not two feet away. He opened his mouth to voice a rather vile invective when Draco's aura of panic and fear stung question made him swallow the sourness.

„Where's Ginny?"

„I don't know", he answered knowing that he wouldn't get any answers without providing his share first. „She hasn't shown up yet, she'll probably be here any minute."

Ron paused choosing his words carefully. Or so he thought.

„Malfoy what the fuck's got your designer boxers in a twist?"

Draco collapsed into a chair. His mind vaguely remembered his body having the same reaction after leaving Ginny in Healer Johnson's care. His voice was tired when he spoke.

„Call an emergency meeting. Black code."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. They hadn't had a black code since… ever. He had only heard about such situations and those were the dreaded times of Voldemort's reign of Terror.

„But that's…"

„Yeah, I know it is."

Ron ran towards Shackleboard's office swearing like a cowboy thrown off his favorite horse.

A/N: So that's it. Chapter 5. I wish I could say this is what I wanted it to be but it's really not. It should have been a lot longer but I promise you, the next one will be. I wanted to write more but if felt right to end the chapter here. Can't explain it though.

Now, I would like some reviews but I'm not into blackmail (not when it comes to this at least). I'll update regardless of how many I get. Hell! I'll update even if I don't get any sort of feedback. I write because I like writing. Not for the fame, glory or appreciation. I don't want to be praised without people telling me why and I don't like unconstructive criticism. Like I said, I write for the joy of it, but you guys can help me get better. If you choose to, there's a nice little Go thinggy there I'd like you to click.


	6. She Might Be Waking Up

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Doubt was tainting every pair of irises in the room. The story that Malfoy had produced was preposterous. There was no possible way that Voldemort was back. For the first time, Harry understood what Fudge felt when he had been informed that the darkest wizard of all time had managed to come back. He felt the same panic the ex Minister must have experienced, dripping into his logic and pushing denial into his veins. He couldn't deal with this again. He couldn't survive it a second time. He was not a hero anymore. He was a fairly good Auror, maybe one of the best. But not because of outstanding talent or intelligence. He was brave, foolishly so, Malfoy would say. He dove head first and liked the rush. He did what he felt he should do. For him morals weren't rules one struggled to abide by. They were as imprinted on his skin as his famous scar. They were a part of him. He had no merit. He thought that because of that, his intentions could never be truly righteous. Because he didn't struggle with doing the right thing, he didn't have to fight his selfishness. It was his nature, his way to be selfish. True to his persona, he wasn't particularly afraid. He just didn't want to be tired anymore.

This couldn't be true. This didn't fit. There had been closure when he had seen Voldemort dead in the Grand Hall. Something had fallen into place. That was how it was supposed to be. Harry Potter had picked up one thing from the mighty Dumbledore. And that was that good and evil were just forces. Balance was the important thing. And if Voldemort had won, it would have been broken. There was enough evil in the world as it was. The Dark Lord's domination would have tipped a very fragile scale. And the Universe hadn't wanted that. It liked things just the way they were, thank you very much. Sure, everyone was struggling trying to achieve utopic goals but the utopia kept it safe, kept it there, existing.

"That can't be true."

A baffled Ron Weasley had spoken. A relieved Harry Potter hid a sigh.

Ron had spoken clearly, no anger in his words. He was certain Malfoy had gone mad and was determined to keep the instable bloke calm. Who knew how he would react if provoked. So he tried to be subtle about it. Apparently, Ron hadn't learnt the notion yet.

Draco snickered bitterly and withdrew his wand. He searched for the pensive he knew Shacklebolt had in his office. Removing the memory from his brain, Draco invited the other people in the room to "take a peak".

After leaving the memory, all four men were shaken. Draco felt himself attacked by troubling thoughts regarding his similarity to his father. Potter, Weasley and the chief of department were just overwhelmed with the information. Not even an insane person could fabricate memories, they all knew that. The whole purpose of the pensive was to allow the viewer to get a more objective grasp on the situation. Denial was still lingering but this time it felt like an irrelevant breeze in the middle of the desert.

Clinging to the last bit of hope available Harry was willing himself to think that maybe Draco had altered the memory, tampered with it as part of a prank or even a conspiracy. Sadly, logic won, and the Boy Who Lived found himself face to face with reality. Not even Slughorn had managed to successfully change a memory and even the most skilled wizards had never even tried knowing it was impossible. No. This was the real thing. Malfoy looked like he was fighting back the urge to spit out a bitter "I told you so." Ron looked like somebody had made him swallow something vile and Shacklebolt was trying to regain his composure. The next question surprised no one. The surprising part was hearing it voiced by two of the men in the room.

"Where's Ginny?"

Malfoy and Weasley looked at each other trying to decide whether to be mad or baffled. It was a question but it sounded like an order: find her, now. It was addressed to everyone and no one in particular. Harry chose to keep his mouth shut. There would be a time when Malfoy would be questioned in regard to his unexpected despair but this was not it. Ron seemed to share his partner's opinion. He focused his stare on his boss instead.

"I'll need a few minutes to locate her."

"I've already tried her flat. She's not there. Or not answering the door.", Draco drawled.

"And why didn't you just break it, you idiot? After learning that... **that**, I don't think you should have been concerned with bloody etiquette." Ron hadn't been able to summarize the situation. He still couldn't bring himself to say that Voldemort was back. And mentioning his baby sister's role in the entire thing would have made him physically ill. He wasn't very sure, but he didn't think Shackelbolt would have appreciated to see Ron's half digested breakfast on his desk.

"I wasn't, Weasley.", the blond wizard replied through his teeth. " I just didn't want to test how effective your sister's wards are. But be my guest... knock yourself out. Literally, I'm sure.'

" I think we all need to calm down."

Harry turned to see Kingsley with his arms on his desk, having regained the authority that had been stripped from him upon hearing The News. And it worked, amazing as it may seem. The two men realised that anger had gotten the best of them and chose to apologize to each other in the best manner they could. By throwing a swift nod in the direction of their boss.

" I have other means of locating my staff, rest assured. It will only take a few minutes. You boys need to calm down and go about your business as usual. I don't want anyone to know anything about this. Until I consult with the Minister, this code black stays classified."

Aware that they had been dismissed, the three Aurors made their way to their desks in silence, the use of the words "code black" burning in their brains.

Code black had also been known as the YKW code. The You Know Who code. It had been the code the department reserved for Voldemort related situations. After Harry vanquished that threat, everyone thought that they would never see another Black Day.

The ten minutes Shacklebolt had taken that day to find Ginevra Weasley might have been the longest of Draco's life if her brother hadn't decided that trying to be productive was the only way to deal with things. When he opened his mouth Draco had been sure that things would end in angry hexes. He would have never guessed that the red headed Auror was actually going to make him fell better.

"We have to do something. Devise a plan of action. We can't just fucking sit around and wait for Kingsley to give us permition. This is my sister we're talking about. I'm not going to brood and do nothing while that worthless piece of flesh hunts her down."

Malfoy was sure that this was the longest speech Weasley had ever given. There was no way in hell that such an abundance of coherent sentences had ever left that man's mouth before. What was even more disturbing, he was right. They couldn't wait for the boss to tell them what to do. This wasn't a random case. This was personal. Somewhere in the back of his head peculiar thoughts were tugging at his mind's sleeve. His expressions seem to be out of one of those melodramatic Muggle films. A bitter smile was threatening to make an appearance and he knew that the circumstances did not call for smiles. No matter how bitter they were.

"We need to contact Hermione.", Harry muttered.

Draco nodded.

"I think we should find a hideout. If... When Shacklebolt finds Ginny, we'll take her somewhere safe and make sure someone's guarding her at all times. "

He was pretty sure the boss was thinking along those same lines but he didn't think they would be allowed to participate. The Departments policy was very clear and such subjectivity would be frowned upon.

When their boss called them back into the office they had already decided to floo Hermione and set camp at Grimmauld Place.

Few words were spoken in the main office of the Aurors Department. No questions were asked. It would have been redundant. There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind about the information the men were seeking.

"She's at St. Mungo's."

Time lost meaning. Draco was running, running towards the Apparition Hall, Weasley at his side, swallowing space with his long legs, trying to get there first. But he was no match for Draco. Draco had plenty of experience with running. He had been running from things for a long time. He ran from his past, from his vile nature, from the Dark Lord's wrath... But now he was running towards something and never had his legs felt lighter or more powerful.

Potter was behind them trying to catch up. Just as he entered the Hall, he heard two loud pops. He stared at the almost empty room for a few seconds. With another pop, this one soft and tired, the air settled.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Ginny was getting bored. After four hours of torturous sleep her eyes had snapped open, all traces of rest gone. This wasn't helping, she thought absently. Her imagination had conjured up a blissful domain of pill induced peace.

She was laying on an unfamiliar bed waiting for the shrink to tell her if she needed to be there. But she couldn't tell him the truth, now could she?

The readhead sighed and burried her head in the cold pillow. Maybe this hadn't been the right choice after all. Maybe she wasn't going insane. Pure selfishness flooded her. She was ashamed of it, yet it was there despite her conscience. She would rather risk the safety of Muggles and Wizards alike, loved ones and innocent civilians, just so she wouldn't have to face madness. There was a small voice inside her head warning her that being committed wouldn't help matters. If she was bonkers there was nothing to do about it, right? And even if there was, it would take time. However, she didn't have time. This particular form of insanity was physically painful. No drugs or therapists would make the pain go away. The Tom her mind had conjured up did not only enjoy hurting her flesh, he had an equal haunting fetish for hurting her mind, making her doubt her convictions and go against them.

She sighed and stared at the clock glued to the wall. She hadn't been there that long. Maybe these things really did take time. It might not all be useless after all. The nightmares were still haunting her sleep but Tom hadn't made an appearance yet.

Ginny felt guilty for being bored. How can one be bored when dealing with the loss of their mental health. Even more disturbing, she was afraid of boredom. It felt like summoning him, pleading with him to come and make things interesting. No, she thought, that's too much excitement. I'll just lay here and hope I don't gauge my eyes out. I'd rather die of boredom. There are worse ways to go.

Before sleep had a chance to claim her, Ginny heard commotion through the thin walls. They hadn't bothered to put Silencing charms on her ward since they weren't sure if they'd keep her yet. She had already thrown the covers aside when the door swung open to reveal a very mad Draco Malfoy.

"Let's go."

She stared at his extended hand. Oh, Merlin... she would love to get out of there. She felt her resolution faltering. Sensing weakness, the annoying voice in her head reminded her why she was there and that Draco had no idea what had been going on lately.

"I have to stay."

"There is no time for this, Weasley. You need to come with us. Now!"

She didn't even have the time to wonder who he was with. Ron and Harry had managed to get pass security and were already flanking Malfoy. Identical expressions were molding their features.

She gave Draco her hand. She had tried. They wouldn't let her do the right thing. It wasn't her fault. Her relief lasted for just over a moment. Feared kicked in. She would have to explain what she was doing there and there was no way she would be able to come up with a story that would satisfy them.

"I don't think it will be necessary, Ginevra."

He was standing there. What was she to do? How could she ignore him? There was no way she could get out of this without raising suspicions.

She clutched the crisp sheets and got to her feet. Her eyes were focused on Tom. I'm not afraid, her mind was shouting at him.

(_I'm not afraid of you, I'm not afraid of madness, I'm not afraid of mirrors, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid!)_

She didn't care anymore. There was no more need to hide. She had finally achieved her goal. She was no longer scared, she was enraged, and the sweet waves of anger were rinsing the panic away.

"You sick son of a bitch!"

Ron flung himself at her hallucination. For a moment she was too baffled to react. Her eyes refocused shortly and she could see her brother's form behind the fading Riddle. His fists were clenched as if he were attempting to strangle the mist.

Smiling evilly, Ton vanished.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

They had Disapparated in a rush. Ginny had only opened her mouth to ask about the destination. There was too much to say and no words big enough to express their thoughts. This was war. And war was not pretty. It covered your hands in blood and your boots in mud. No amount of water would ever wash away the signs of war. People clung to each other, despair bringing them together. After going through one such confrontation, all romanticized ideas of the world perished. You no longer felt like you were fighting for a cause. No amount of belief could stand such blows. But habit kept you going. You have to do it. Just like you have to brush your teeth even if you're almost asleep, just like you have to go to work even when you'd want nothing more than to curl up in your bed with a sappy novel. No Muggle had ever avoided drafting by pleading laziness.

Ginny rose her eyes. Grimmauld Place. It seemed to be stuck in time. As soon as Harry opened the door, Mrs. Black began to shriek. The smell of mold and decay was unmistakable. The hallways were still dark and the tapestry still dirty. The floor was covered by a thick lair of dust. The velvet covered armchairs looked worn out but comfortable. Yet no one seemed to want to be the first to sit. Sitting was just not something you did when you had the Dark Lord hot on your trail.

"Someone should inform Shacklebolt."

She looked at Harry with blank eyes. She nodded even though she had no idea what he was talking about. Sensing her confusion, Draco explained.

"He knows about Riddle."

"But how? How do **you** know? At St. Mungo's... you didn't seem... surprised."

"I talked to Cringer. I knew that he had held something back when he tipped us off about that hideout. I gave him a dose of Veritaserum."

He didn't seem to be willing to go any further. Which was just fine with her. She dropped her body in one of the armchairs and trapped her legs under her behind. Shivers were running through her skin and she embraced her middle in a futile attempt to make the cold go away.

Ron and Draco followed her example and occupied the empty chairs. The familiar sound of the floo network announced Kingsley's presence.

"All right, Weasley. You've got some explaining to do.'

She inwardly cringed at the cliche. But it was true. There was a lot to talk to about and she wasn't sure if she could will the words out of her mouth. "Get a grip, Weasley!", she scolded herself. They weren't interested in Tom's little games in all their disgusting glory. What they were looking for were facts.

"Yeah...", she started. Her eyes traveled around the room and stopped when they reached her partner. "Can I have a cigarette?"

A pack of Dunhill flew through the air. Years of catching quaffles and snitches had not been wasted on Ginny. She caught the pack with shivering hands and used her wand to light the tip of a cigarette. She took two long drags and started speaking.

"About three weeks ago, I had a nightmare. When I woke up...", she paused searching for the right words, careful not to reveal too much "I went to the bathroom to wash up. When I looked in the mirror, he was there. He just stood there. He appeared sometimes in my dreams and a couple of times when I was awake. He never used a wand, I didn't even see him with one. Never cursed or jinxed me. He just screwed with my mind a lot. Kept telling me I was his."

She stopped and took another drag. When she opened her mouth to speak again she found that there was nothing left to say. Nothing that would be of interest to them. She was startled to realise that there wasn't that much information that she could provide. Even though she had been the only one on their side to see him until today, he had covered his tracks well. What had happened to her was just proof. Proof that he had indeed managed to bribe or overpower the keepers of the underworld.

"Ginny? Is there anything else?", Ron's voice was soft and cautious.

"I could give you the memories if you'd like.", she said hoping they wouldn't ask, "But I doubt it would help. It's not like he was going to reveal his wicked plans to me. Unfortunately, he's smarter than that."

"Doesn't hurt to try though."

She nodded, fear constricting her airways. Not daring to stand she pulled out her wand and extracted four memories from her mind. The strangely material silver threads were immediately contained in the vials Kingsley had provided.

"Now... I think it's important to establish how we should proceed. First of all... I won't even try to keep you away from Weasley. But it is important that you understand that the Ministry will be involved in this."

They all nodded.

"We're going to call Hermione. She'll be staying here until this whole bloody situation is resolved.'

"Weasley..."

"Don't even say it, boss. We need her. We have to find out how this happened and how to deal with it."

Anticipating the crisis, Harry cut his partner off.

"We're not going to seclude ourselves, Kingsley; but you have to understand that we've dealt with this before and if there's someone who can help us get to the bottom of things, it's Hermione."

The Head of the Auror department sighed heavily. All of a sudden he appeared very old and tired.

"Do as you see fit. But try not to bring any other civilians in."

On that note, Kinglsey disappeared in the green blue flames.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Oh, Ginny..."

Before she had a chance to respond, Hermione's arms were around her and she felt herself sobbing in her friends robes. Relief flooded her for the first time since she had left Saint Mungo's reassured that she wasn't going bonkers. The realisation of what had happened and what she would have to deal with hit her and control vanished the moment she felt the contact. She always cried when she was comforted, she thought bitterly. She could hold it together, no matter how rough the situation, but the moment she sensed sympathy, she crumbled.

"I ... though... I was... going mad.', she said between sobs.

She knew the men were looking at them. But composure was no longer important. She didn't care that she was behaving like a little girl.

She cried until her eyes felt dry, until she felt like throwing up. Not many things made it through her haze. She knew 'Mione had held her for a while, then Ron. She remembered Draco looking at her, his eyes unfocused.

Several hours passed before she managed to stop. When she did she fell asleep. Agitated as it might have been, at least it wasn't plagued by images of Tom.

She opened her eyes reluctantly. The soft light was hurting her, even her skin protested. Her head seemed heavy and for a short moment she allowed herself to think that everything had been a nightmare and she just had to nurse a hangover. But times was to precious to be wasted on wishful thinking. Surveying the room her sight met his form. She abandoned the relative safety of the couch and stood in from of him. He looked so dark, so present it was making her senses tingle. There was so much meaning in his eyes that it took a while for her to compose herself. And then he absorbed the space between them and he was kissing her. His lips were oh-so-cold, his breath fiery and his body tense. She clutched his shirt and her nails were biting into his flesh as she struggled to grasp his sweet reality. She was breathing him and he was tasting her and there was nothing else. There was no space, there was no time. For a moment it seemed that the world had vanished and that they weren't human. That they were two galaxies drowning into each other, no state of consciousness, no need. It felt like they were just abiding by the rules of the universe, not even attempting to fight an attraction that was impossible to control.

A traitorous thought made its way into her baffled mind. What would happen when they had to let go? How would they survive it? The world seemed to exist only as long as they were kissing... There was no way she would be able to deal with the reality again. The contrast was just too great, the cruel contrast between the nirvana of his kisses and the abyss of the world.

But they parted, and to her surprise there was no earthquake or calamity to let her know nature acknowledged the injustice. She stared at the floor not daring to look at him. Not wanting to see the pure lust, not wanting to see the instinct unaccompanied by the feeling.

Ron's huge steps were heading towards the drawing room and they sprung apart, the electrons in the air tickling their flesh.

"You're up."

"Obviously, Ronald.", she replied trying to roll her eyes convincingly.

Ron smiled, relieved to see that her breakdown was over. He told them to join him in the kitchen where 'Mione and Harry were already trying to figure out how the whole situation had ensued.

She plastered a smile on her face, her insides tensing at the familiarity of the pretense.

Unobstructed by tears, Ginny was able to observe the appearances of her friends. They were grave. Their features had been drawn to achieve the perfect mask of concern. And although she knew that it was not merely a mask their consideration still irked her.

She settled herself on one of the stools and started shoveling food onto her plate. For a while she just listened to them throwing around ideas and comparing the situation to her first year at Hogwarts.

"But it's not like that!", Hermione almost yelled in frustration.

Finishing up her first real dinner in weeks she wiped her mouth and looked up.

"Yeah... I'm not being possessed this time."

The trio looked at her slightly embarrassed. She quirked an eyebrow, dismissing their reactions. Hermione decided to brush it under the table.

"Let's be rational about this."

"Good luck with that.", Harry warned her.

She shot him an angry look and went on.

"What are the main questions we're looking at here?'

When no one came up with the answer she once again spoke, this time like she was addressing a group of particularly stubborn pupils.

"We can't find the answers if we don't know the questions. The most obvious one, of course, is how did he come back?"

"And what does he want with Ginny."

Draco's voice didn't betray emotion, but her stomach somersaulted when she noted that his main concern was her safety, not the world's.

Hermione was nodding sternly.

"There is something very peculiar about this."

"You don't fucking say?", Ron interjected.

But his wife didn't even pay attention to him. She had begun talking, almost whispering and it appeared she wasn't addressing any of them. Ginny had seen this happen before, when they were at Hogwarts. Her friend had gone into problem-solving mode and there was only one thing that could ever snap her out of it, and that was epiphany. Every time Hermione Granger begun mauling on a problem the only way she would stop was if she figured it out.

"Why the hell didn't he stay dead? There are no more Horcruxes... And the Prophecy said... That's it! The prophecy!"

"Mione? Are you ok?"

"Yes!Yes!Yes! I'm fine. Don't you see, Harry? It's the prophecy!"

She looked at them amazed that they hadn't figured it out.

"What do prophecies deal with?"

"The future?", Ron asked a little bit sarcastically.

"More than that, Ronald."

The people at the table were searching their brains for the answer. And the answer came. Draco Malfoy opened his mouth to speak the word Hermione had waited for.

"Time."

A/N: Loads of answers in the next chapters. It's beginning to have a plot... Bet you never thought that would happen. Review please!


	7. Drowning in Silence

Chapter Seven

"Time", Harry more asked than stated.

"Yes! Yes!"

They looked at her with blank faces, unable to understand why the light bulb had lit, what had been the source of the illumination. The only person whose features weren't molded in confusion was Draco and, knowing him, he wasn't about to reveal the answer.

"Prophecies deal with time", Hermione began, "and there are two major theories when it comes to time. Muggles call them the linear and circular theories. Though most wizards would laugh in your face if you so much as mention the linear one."

"Why?", asked Ron.

"According to this theory, time is like a line with no beginning and no end. The present is the clearly established tip of this line that moves as time passes. The past and the future are defined in strict relation to that point; anything behind it is the past, anything in front of it the future. As the present progresses the future is created."

"And what's so absurd about that?"

"Oh, Harry… I would have expected you to know."

She paused and after drawing breath, she continued her explanation.

"The basic concept of the linear theory is that you can't go back in time. The way its supporters see it, it's impossible to go back in time because of the consequences. They say that if someone were to go back in time and murder their own grandmother than they wouldn't exist and thus they couldn't go back in time in the first place."

"That sounds sensible", muttered Ron.

"Use your brain, Weasley." , Draco drawled sounding bored. "That whole shit is based on the premise that you can't time travel. But wizards do."

"Oh!..."

"The other theory", Hermione interrupted, "is that time is circular. It states that there is no present, past and future in the grand scheme of things. That it's all about perception. For us this is the present. For the us that exist one hour ahead, for example, this is the past. You get the picture. This is the physical reality that Muggles are ignorant to because they know next to nothing about time turners and prophecies."

Her eyes were flaring with the thrill of the speech. She was absorbed and fascinated by the information she was sharing. Ginny was starting to feel like one of Hermione's students and was fighting back the urge to take notes.

"Seers have a connection with the time sphere. They can catch glimpses at what will happen."

"But what about the killing your grandmother thing?", Harry asked.

"The killing your grandmother thing, as you so eloquently put it, is irrelevant. Time is circular, the present, past and future are just matters of individual and momentary perception. Every time trip and its consequences are already settled within the time sphere, nothing changes because everything already happened, is happening, or will happen. Of course, the tense is irrelevant."

"I'm getting a headache.", Ron said, sinking his hands in his red mane.

"I still don't get how this whole thing helps us."

"But it does, Harry. Prophecies 'deal' with time.', she said, her fingers bent in air quotes. "And someone found a loophole in the prophecy and altered things. Well, they didn't actually alter anything since that would imply that the past was changed from an initial form to something else, but it's obvious that…"

"Hermione!", Ron whined "my head is going to explode…"

"Oh fine! To put this in terms you would understand: someone messed with time."

Silence fell like a rock on the kitchen table. Hermione was, once again, the first one to speak.

"But what loophole?"

Ginny's eyes were once again drawn to Draco. He seemed so bored and knowing. That indifferent attitude annoyed and attracted her at the same time. He had the ability to get under her skin and cause her temper to raise, his cold blood managing to bring hers to a boiling point. And yet, when he leaned casually on a wall, regarding the world from previously unexplored heights, her blood started stirring for completely different reasons.

"Maybe it would help to actually hear the prophecy.", he said.

All eyes turned to Harry. He was tired and the last thing he wanted to do was recite that gods-awful thing. And yet, he was aware if the fact that there was no way out of this. Drawing breath, he started in what he hoped would pass as an inflectionless voice.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…"

"That's it."

Ginny's statement was met by looks that managed to engulf annoyance at the interruption and curiosity.

When she saw that the youngest Weasley wasn't about to explain further, seemingly lost in thought, Hermione almost shouted an impatient "Well?"

"The prophecy talks about the Dark Lord. NOT Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord had seven Horcruxes. Tom Riddle didn't. He may have been Voldemort but he was not the Dark Lord."

"But isn't it the same thing? I mean…", Ron added hastily after noticing Ginny's glare, "even if they didn't bring him back as the Dark Lord, he'll still be the Dark Lord. It's in his nature; it's only a matter of time."

"No, Ron. It's not like that.", his wife told him. "He was obviously brought back by people who knew an awful lot about the matter. Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord once and it lead to his downfall. He doesn't have to do the same thing again."

"What do you mean?", Harry asked, more than a little irked, "That he'll just turn good or change his bloody nickname and the prophecy won't affect him anymore?"

Hermione stared at him awkwardly. She was about to say something that would most likely cause a very strong reaction on Harry's part and she was dreading it. Draco Malfoy stepped in however and absolved her of her messenger duties. She was grateful. Harry wouldn't lash out at Malfoy like he would at her. He expected pussy-footing and solutions from her, Gryffindor values and the likes. He would be less offended if the explanation came from the Slytherin and she was silently grateful that he had chosen to speak up.

"No, Potter.", he began, arrogant and exasperated. "But he'll know what mistakes not to repeat. He won't make any Horcruxes, he might decide to be more subtle when it comes to his power hunger. The sad fact is, Saint Potter, that he now knows what brought about his downfall last time; the biggest mistake being his pompous Dark Lord claims."

Draco had spoken calmly. There had been sarcasm sown into his words, but that was not unusual. Harry looked at him with dread. He didn't even mind the barbs Malfoy was throwing at him. His mind's eye was imagining a world where Riddle ruled the political scene, a magical and modern day version of Adolf Hitler. He would hypnotize the crowd with his charisma and looks.

"But that… People would never believe him. HE's… VOLDEMORT!"

"He was Voldemort. And if he stays out of the spotlight for a while, builds connections… who knows?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, shook her head and looked at Draco, furious.

"People would never believe him. They know who he was and what he's capable of, not matter what he would claim."

"Still so naïve, Hermione."

The words were drowned in the usual dose of acid. The use of her first name gave even more weight to what he said. With a lazy hand gesture, he dismissed his own comment.

"Even if he still follows a path of full-fledged evilness, he'll know what not to do.", he continued. "He will not try to go after The Boy Who Lived,", he bowed to Harry in a somewhat insulting manner, "he won't underestimate the power of love…", his tone and smirk were mocking his idioms.

"This is bleeding impossible.", the hero of the wizarding world sighed.

"But _how_ did they bring him back?, Hermione inquired, appearing to be talking to herself.

The others had no more answers. Draco remained silent, though it was impossible to tell whether he really did not have the answer or he had simply tired of the discussion. They stared blankly at the walls, avoiding catching anyone's eyes, embarrassed of their lack of solutions.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Ginny was watching the street from the Drawing Room window, her almost skeletal fingers gently pushing the curtains aside. She watched as Draco, Ron and Hermione passed the wards and Apparated, each heading for their homes to fetch provisions and clothes for themselves. Harry stayed behind, having already brought his things over from his flat. But Ginny was no fool. She knew that one of them would have been instructed to remain behind no matter what the circumstances. She was being guarded. With a sad smile she thought that she would rather have Draco stay behind.

She opened a long unused window with difficulty and lit one of the cigarettes from the pack he had left her. She cupped her elbow and flicked her wrist, repeating a routine she had never even thought about, gestures that she never took notice of. The nicotine and familiarity of her body's instinctive reactions were calming her down.

She hadn't noticed Harry as he appeared behind her, and was surprised to find that she hadn't shuddered though she had been caught off guard.

"I didn't know you smoked."

She could not think of any answer to this. She looked at him for a few seconds hoping that her brain would give an automatic response to his statement; something that would sound nice and normal. When it didn't she simply looked away, drawing another lungful.

"When did you start?"

"When I was fifteen.", she replied not averting her gaze from the empty street.

He nodded and then he lifted his chin, looking suddenly surprised.

"But we dated. And I never knew…"

A sad little smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Of course he hadn't noticed. She was sure that he had fancied himself in love with her. But his actions contradicted his thoughts. He was too busy saving the world with Ron and Hermione at his side. He hadn't had time to notice her sneaking to the unpopulated part of the edge of the lake to smoke.

"Ginny?"

Lost in her own thoughts, she forgot he was waiting for some sort of a reply.

"It's not something I advertise."

A few moments later he spoke again. She was becoming increasingly annoyed by his attempts at making conversation.

"Gin? What's up with you and Malfoy?"

Well, maybe he wasn't trying to make conversation after all. Harry had always been more subtle than Ron, but that wasn't saying much. When it came to maneuvering the conversation, he was obviously inexperienced.

"What do you mean?", she asked, trying to distract him until she found a suitable lie.

"You two act… strangely around each other."

"I think you're starting to imagine things, Harry."

"I don't think I am. He acted really protective of you today. Not to mention how he was when you were injured. Is there something between you two?"

"Yes."

She was inwardly startled by how easily she had admitted it, not least because she didn't even know if there was something between her and Draco apart from the occasional shagging and snogging.

There was a very easy way of fixing it however. She simply needed to come up with something like "We're partners and sometimes friends." But she didn't say it. She didn't want to. It crossed her mind that Draco might not be as relaxed about her confession as she was.

"Romantically?"

"Yes.", she stated plainly.

Harry's face was drowned in surprise. He had suspected and yet he was still flabbergasted at hearing the confirmation.

"So… you two are in a relationship?"

His tone was careful and, although he seemed to try to choose his words carefully, he had been frighteningly blunt.

"Not exactly.", she took another drag out of her cigarette and continued swiftly, not allowing him to pose more questions. "Don't ask me to explain, Harry. And it's none of your business anyway. It's not anybody else's business either, and I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself."

She wouldn't have been able to explain even if she had been willing. There were no words for it. She didn't know if she was in love with him. She was hesitant on putting that label on their involvement. It seemed to undermine it. It was bigger than that. It was like she existed solely to feel his skin, to taste it, to hear it sing underneath her touch. His smell was imbibed in her pores and she was grateful for it. There was no way to explain it. It wasn't the kind of feeling that you wonder about, like love was. People in love were always wondering if the other felt the same, or if they felt it with same intensity that they did. She didn't. In the past she had denied it, found countless justifications. She had decided it was merely lust combined with a peculiar intellectual attraction. But it was more. It was ancient. It was older than the concept of love. After escaping the limbo in which her own doubts had thrown her, she realized that there was no use trying to look for reasons to avoid it. She was his, 

his in a way that defied normal perceptions. She knew he felt the same. She was overwhelmed by the energy that emanated from him every time they were close to each other. He was still in denial, of course. Whether this was because he hadn't had a Riddle-like experience that would force him to come to terms, or because Slytherins were just stubborn that way, she didn't know. But it was there. And it would come out, not matter how hard he fought it. It was a brand of magic unknown to her, but she was sure that it was indeed mystical. There was too much power in it, too much intensity. No matter how hard the flame burnt it never extinguished. No matter how many times she'd have him, she craved him even more afterwards. How could she possibly explain to Harry that she felt his thoughts? She didn't read them, she felt them.

She had wondered whether this would help in their attempts to bring Tom down. She knew it wouldn't. It was beyond the matter of wizarding safety. There was force here that she had no way of understanding. She had tried. She was surprised to hear her mind working in this direction but not too much. The thoughts belonged there, like she had them for a long time and yet she hadn't allowed them to enter her conscious mind; the dreams about him, the way she felt comfortable with him even when her questions regarding her sanity had almost driven her crazy on their own, the way she had been more than willing to let him be the one to chase away her demons…

No, she thought decidedly. There was no way Harry would have even been able to understand that or she able to phrase it. She didn't know why she had admitted any kind of link to Draco to him. She vaguely suspected it had something to do with trying to make it more real. The emotions were so powerful, every cell in her body reacted, every atom. She could feel Draco Malfoy with every sense she possessed whenever he was near. She could taste his presence, his words, his looks. It was so incredibly surreal that she was afraid that it really had nothing to do with reality. In light of her recent doubts regarding her capacity to think normally and clearly it was only obvious that she would try to make sure this was not a hallucination. If her physical involvement with Draco was veridical, than so was this bond. Telling Harry had been a way of trying to tie it to a reality it didn't belong to entirely. But at least it confirmed that, despite it being unlikely, it was there.

Harry respected the moment and waited for her to end her thought before speaking again. He was back to attempting to normalize the situation.

"Why did you started smoking?", he asked, his tone willingly light.

"Felt right."

She knew her answers were too ambiguous for him. But she wanted to discourage the exchange. She had too much on her mind to keep up a pretense.

She evanesco-ed her cigarette bud and excused herself to her room.


End file.
